


Pretty Little Thing

by TheAccountOfShame



Series: Give It Up [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Breathplay, Bukkake, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Face-Fucking, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Shibari, Taking Sexy Photos, kind of, maybe? Kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 00:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17518346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAccountOfShame/pseuds/TheAccountOfShame
Summary: Yuzuru was Shoma's muse, now he can become his art.





	Pretty Little Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Big love to all who beta's this trash fire ilu <3  
> If there's still typing errors it's just because I'm stupid.

It’s quiet when Yuzuru steps out of the shower. Silent. It’s a bit unnerving, but not so much that Yuzuru can’t shrug it off and focus on gently patting his skin dry. How long would it take until Shoma’s apartment would feel like home to him? Probably more time than either of them have right now.

Yuzuru is alone for now. Itsuki left to stay with his parents while Yuzuru is visiting, just like last time. Shoma is out for an hour for physiotherapy. That hadn’t been part of their plans, when Yuzuru arranged to spend the New Year in Nagoya, after being with his family for Christmas, but it gives Yuzuru some time alone.

Yuzuru had wanted to be at Nationals, but then he injured his ankle. And then Shoma injured his ankle too.

“We’re both falling apart,” Yuzuru had joked the night before after dinner. Shoma chuckled weakly against his chest, cuddled up close on the sofa half-watching tv and an old blanket thrown over their legs. They'd been all but glued to each other from the moment Yuzuru had arrived. Shoma didn't get as touched-starved as Yuzuru did, but their time apart still took a toll on him. He still ended up craving affection just as much.

“You know, they say that couples eventually merge into each other.”

Yuzuru laughed. “Isn’t that usually after years of marriage?”

Shoma looked up at him, smiling, his hand lazily rubbing circles into Yuzuru’s belly. He had cut his hair since Yuzuru had last seen him; now it was chestnut brown, as dark as the eyes that no longer had to peek through unruly curls. Light from the television hit his face to highlight the curve on his cheekbone, the tip of his nose, in shifting tones of pale blue and green.

“I guess we’re ahead of the curve.”

Yuzuru laughed again and kissed his forehead. More of it was exposed now that Shoma’s hair was shorter, but it was still long enough to tickle to top of Yuzuru’s lip when he pressed a kiss just above his eyebrow.

Injury wasn’t something Yuzuru ever wanted them to share, but it was part of life, part of the sport. Sometimes these things just happen. At least Shoma’s injury wasn’t the complete twin of Yuzuru’s -- it wasn’t as severe. Yuzuru was almost recovered now, but it had taken two weeks of rest and many more of slowly getting the ankle mobile again before he could even get back on the ice. He hadn’t been ready for Nationals, but he would be ready for Worlds. Shoma likely wouldn’t need to take a break from competitions; the month between Nationals and Four Continents would probably be enough. He only had to rest a few days, and he was already starting his rehabilitation. He could walk on the ankle, albeit carefully. Shoma’s damage was not extensive. Just a warning to be more careful.

They both were in good enough condition to...reacquaint. To play. Yuzuru wanted that. It tugged low in his belly, buzzing beneath his skin since the moment he saw Shoma again. He wanted to fall into Shoma, give himself up, have Shoma take him.

So, even if the circumstances aren’t the best, Yuzuru is glad for a little bit of time alone. It gave him time to set up a surprise. Just a little one, something he figured both of them could handle. The idea had come to him months ago, the last time he had been in Shoma’s apartment, but they hadn’t had the time to set it up. And he wasn’t totally sure Shoma would have been ready for it then. Before Yuzuru had left to return to Toronto, he had found one of Shoma’s sketch books. Yuzuru had thought nothing of flipping through - Shoma had a few scattered about and Yuzuru liked to see the things Shoma drew to keep himself calm and keep his skills well-practiced. Usually it was just things he saw around the house, animals, rough little sketches done to pass some time. But Yuzuru flipped a page and found...himself. The drawings were stylised, but very clearly supposed to be him. 

Shoma had sketched Yuzuru before - once, just his face. Then complained that Yuzuru moved too much and gave up. But these weren’t little portraits. They were of Yuzuru, tied up.

They had done some play with restraints before, and Yuzuru liked it. But not like this. Not the intricate rope work the drawings suggested, nor these poses that would test Yuzuru’s flexibility as much as his patience and control. 

Yuzuru had missed Shoma’s birthday. Judging from Shoma's dream-like sketches, he thinks  this could be a nice belated birthday treat. Not even for the sex -- they fucked last night, nice and slow, with Yuzuru riding Shoma like he wanted to savour every second of it. It’s all about the fantasy, the trust, the intimacy. If they just wanted sex, they could do that anytime without all the requirements that came along with any kind of play. And they did. A lot. Scenes aren’t nearly common for them as just fucking, the same as anyone else -- although, maybe they do always maintain the hint of a dynamic others didn’t aim for, and maybe they do sometimes fuck harder than others might enjoy. They could do sweet too, though. If they wanted. No edge of submission. Just love.

Yuzuru pats his hair dry while he goes through to the bedroom, figuring out what to do first. He decides getting the room in order is the best place to start. He moves the full-length mirror Shoma usually has stuffed in a corner, unused, to the foot on the bed. He gets the condoms and lube out, just in case Shoma chooses to use them later. And then the rope, along with the shears Shoma keeps alongside, out from where Yuzuru knows they are hidden at the back of Shoma’s wardrobe.

It’s not like the idea of this kind of bondage play was coming out of the blue. They had talked about it before. Shoma was practicing, not wanting to try it on Yuzuru until he was comfortable making the knots and beautiful patterns and also quickly pulling them apart. The last thing either of them wanted was for Yuzuru to get all tied up only to find later that Shoma couldn’t undo it. Though he supposes that’s what the shears are for - in case something goes wrong and Yuzuru needs to get out of the ropes in a hurry.

The ropes alone are beautiful. Soft, as thick as Yuzuru’s pinky, and a lovely shade of red that will contrast with his pale skin. Yuzuru places them on the bed and finally finishes up with Shoma’s camera, leaving it waiting on the nightstand. Now, Yuzuru can turn his attention to getting himself ready.

He tries, the best he can, to make himself look the way that Shoma drew him. Using the mirror, he applies a little make-up; powder on his skin, a slight blush on his cheeks, softly smudged lines across his eyelids. Last, the slightest hint of red tinting his lips, gently pressed on with the pad of his finger from the centre out so his lips look bitten and plush. Satisfied, he slips on his underwear. They're black lace, french cut, and a bit snug both in the front, where the cut wasn’t meant for his cock to be there, and at the back where the hem bites in the fullest curve of his ass. The lace is uncomfortable, but the fabric between his cheeks, almost like a thong, is kind of familiar. He rolls on stockings to complete the look -- sheer and glossy with a black band of lace that is tight around his thighs. He had to shave his whole body, but it was worth it to not spoil the fantasy. 

He looks in the mirror for a moment. His hair has dried, the length of it threatening to fall in his eyes. Applying the make-up had been tricky, but the result is pleasing; his eyes seem to smolder, his skin looks clear and even. Still himself, but with the softness, prettiness, that can be found in his face drawn out and emphasised.  The lingerie looks good on him. He had thought his muscle would look odd when paired with black lace, but he’s lean enough and the definition is soft enough that it’s a pleasing juxtaposition. The black looks stark against pale skin, delicate lace over firm thighs and accenting the cut of his abs. His slim build and small waist counters the definition in his torso; the roundness of his ass is more pronounced by the cut of the underwear, adding to the illusion of curve. Yuzuru hasn’t really dabbled with cross dressing before, not like this. He likes to play with the androgyny he has in his skating and with his costumes, but off the ice he’s never really pursued this kind of beauty: blurring the lines, existing in a space between masculine and feminine. Being both, but neither at the same time. He likes the way the stockings look, the way the garter contrasts with the creamy pale flesh of his thigh and the way the sheen of the stocking make his legs look longer and smoother. He likes the way his features seem more delicate under the makeup except for his eyes -- the shape of them more defined and striking. He likes how the lace frames his ass but does nothing to actually cover it.

If Shoma enjoys this too, Yuzuru would be willing to explore it more. He reaches out without thinking, his fingertips touching the cool surface of the mirror, tracing the curve of his cheek and the length of his chest. The disconnect between himself and his reflection is interesting.

Yuzuru glances at the clock. Shoma should be home any time now. He’s not sure how to wait; should he stand, so Shoma can see the black lace and stockings? Or kneel on the bed, posed like one of the drawings to embody a fantasy in the flesh? Yuzuru decides to wait on the bed, posed with his legs off to the side like a mermaid, showing off as much as possible. It’s a comfortable position to wait in, and when Shoma walks through the door, Yuzuru can shift his waist forward and raise his ass to flaunt the cut of his lingerie and exaggerate the contours of his body, from waist to hip. 

Which is exactly what he does when he hears the door to the apartment open and Shoma call out to him. Yuzuru’s heart picks up the pace, hammering in his chest. Waiting is a drag, but the way the anticipation builds up, the pay off that comes when the waiting is over, is worth it.

Shoma freezes in the doorway of the bedroom the second he catches sight of Yuzuru on the bed, breath catching in his throat and face flushing with impressive speed. It’s incredibly satisfying. Yuzuru’s lips twitch with a smile he can’t repress. 

Shoma bites his lip and lets out a breathy giggle. “What’s this?”

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

Shoma laughs again, eyes skimming over Yuzuru’s body as he approaches the bed. “You-- Yeah. I’m definitely surprised.” He blinks rapidly, smiling open-mouthed like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “Let me get a proper look at you.”

Yuzuru lets his hips roll back first, stretching out his legs in front on him, propping himself up with his hands and back arching, looking up at Shoma through his lashes. Shoma reaches out, stroking up Yuzuru’s leg from knee to thigh, catching on the lace at the top of the garters. Shoma bites his lip, skimming his fingertips up and down where Yuzuru’s skin and the lace meet. “Wow.”

Yuzuru flips himself over, getting up on his knees, glancing over his shoulder so he can see Shoma’s reaction: his punched-out exhale at the way the underwear hugs the curve of Yuzuru's ass, and the way he chews his lip when his fingers skate up the back of Yuzuru’s thighs, over the exposed bottom half of one cheek, until his hands hit where the black lace is pulled tight over the skin.

“Wow,” Shoma breathes out, again, stunned. 

Yuzuru wiggles his butt playfully, invoking another giggle. Shoma’s colour is high and his eyes dark already, his breathing more rapid and smile wide. He taps against Yuzuru’s butt softly, teasing. “Up.”

Yuzuru does as he’s told, lifting up from the bed so he’s kneeling facing the mirror. Shoma’s fingertips skim down the back of his thigh, then up again, over the curve of his ass, over his hip, around to travel over his abs and chest, up the length of his neck and tracing his jaw. He pushes at Yuzuru’s chin, urging him to keep his eyes on the mirror.

“Look,” Shoma tells him softly. “You’re beautiful.”

Yuzuru takes in his reflection again. The makeup on his face doesn’t hide the blush rising in his cheeks; soft pink and pretty along his darkened eyes and red lips. If anything, he looks even better with Shoma beside him. Like the image is complete. The contrast of Shoma, fully dressed in just a casual t-shirt and jeans, beside him seems to make everything come together. The only thing missing is the rope.

“Do you like it?” Yuzuru asks, resisting the urge to lick his lips so not to smear the colour.

“I do.” Shoma strokes Yuzuru’s cheek with the back of his hand, knuckles barely grazing the skin. Yuzuru leans into the touch on instinct. “You’ve been going through my things?”

He says it like a tease, not a reprimand, but Yuzuru still peeks at him bashfully. “I found it by accident. I always like looking at your art.”

Shoma hums. The surprise has worn off, Yuzuru can see the shift in Shoma’s eyes. Arousal simmering in the depths, but now joined with a playful spark and a quiet confidence as the idea of what Yuzuru is offering, and what Shoma wants to do, settles and takes hold. “That’s why you want the mirror, right? So you can see what I do with the ropes?”

“The drawings were beautiful,” Yuzuru tells him softly. “I want to see if I can match them.”

Shoma glances at where the rope wait beside Yuzuru on the bed. “You have to tell me immediately if you start to feel numb anywhere, okay?”

Yuzuru nods; he knows the rules. Restraints have an edge of discomfort, that’s the point, but numbness and tingling means the circulation is cut off and that can be dangerous if ignored for too long. In any kind of play, communication is of paramount importance.

“You can use the camera too,” Yuzuru supplies as Shoma takes a step to reach for the ropes. He might not have noticed the camera on the side, but even if he had it was best to be clear. Yuzuru was typically very careful about photographs, rarely sending anything obviously sexual when they were apart or taking any intimate photos together simply because it can be very easy to lose control of images. This, he wants to be clear, is an exception.

“Are you sure?”

Yuzuru flashes a coy smile. “Maybe you can use them for reference.”

Shoma laughs, bobbing his head in understanding. Shoma made Yuzuru a muse, now he can turn him into art.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” Shoma instructs, although Yuzuru doesn’t really need it. His hasn’t moved since Shoma had told him to get up off his arms. Yuzuru can sometimes need a firmer hand from Shoma, reminders. Sometimes it’s harder to get into that mental space, or he resists and likes to fight submission, just enough to feel the thrill of being overpowered. This time is different; maybe it’s because Yuzuru spent so long preparing, or because he waited, but he’s ready for Shoma to take over. He doesn’t feel the need to test or push at all. Putting up any kind of fight would likely just ruin the experience. Giving yourself over is just as thrilling, after all.

Yuzuru looks in the mirror as Shoma moves around the bed, watching as he tugs on Yuzuru’s ankles to silently instruct him to move back. Shoma strokes over the back of Yuzuru’s calf, thigh, hip; Yuzuru’s eyes follow the path they take, feeling the gentle touch and the warmth of his fingertips. He watches when Shoma dips his head close to press a kiss to his shoulder, so light and soft it almost tickles. Yuzuru tilts his head to give Shoma access to his neck, relaxing into the feather-soft kisses across his skin and the familiar presence of his hand at his waist, warm and grounding as if stopping Yuzuru from floating away. It’s a beautiful sight to take in -- Shoma’s plump bottom lip dragging up the column of his neck, Shoma’s eyes half-closed and lashes fluttering, the contrast of Yuzuru’s paleness next to Shoma’s honey skin. Yuzuru gets to watch the result of simmering anticipation shifting into arousal; the flush on his cheeks travelling across his chest, the heaves of his own breath and the tightening of his stomach when Shoma runs his teeth over his earlobe. He sees his lips part to release a sigh, and the tiny smirk that Shoma answers with. Yuzuru feels oddly outside of his body, witnessing everything from the reflection like he’s inside the mirror looking at the scene play out, but still within himself enough to feel every kiss and touch and the heat and tension, the shiver of excitement, that rises within him in response.

“Stay still,” Shoma whispers into Yuzuru’s ear, making him shudder. His ears are sensitive. He loves when Shoma breathes into them, whispers, kisses, bites. He nods his head mutely and watches the reflection of Shoma slipping away and reaching for the first bundle of rope. He sees when Shoma looks back at him and pauses, a flicker of uncertainty crossing over his expression. It’s barely there a second, and then it’s hidden away again, pushed down, replaced by something calmer by the time he moves back to where Yuzuru is waiting.

“This is going to restrict your breathing,” Shoma tells him, his voice is quiet but clear and unwavering. Yuzuru’s heart immediately picks up. “It should only restrict you a little bit. You must tell me straight away if something feels wrong.”

“Yes,” Yuzuru whispers, turning to meet Shoma’s eyes. “I will.”

He wants to ask if Shoma is sure, pause the scene now just to make sure Shoma is really okay with this. Yuzuru knows this kind of thing puts Shoma on edge, but looking into Shoma’s deep brown eyes makes him reconsider. Shoma’s eyes are beautiful, big round and doe-like with long, thick lashes and flecks of chocolate warmth when they catch the light. Shoma’s eyes are expressive. If you know how read him you can tell exactly what he’s feeling from just one look in his eyes, and Yuzuru can read him fluently. Now, there is nothing in Shoma’s eyes but determination, love and trust. There’s no need to ask and check if Shoma is sure - he is, that’s the point. He’s sure he can trust Yuzuru to stop if it becomes dangerous. He trusts himself to be able to manage the restriction so it never gets there, and to act quickly if it does. 

Shoma unfurls the length of rope, bringing the ends together, coming in front of Yuzuru, blocking his view of the mirror. The bed dips under his weight when he crawls on, holding Yuzuru’s chin to ensure he doesn’t look away. It’s not an aggressive gesture -- his fingers are loose: guiding, not gripping, and his expression is peaceful, almost sweet. The rope rubs against Yuzuru’s cheek. He can’t wait to feel it drawn tight against him. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Shoma instructs, voice firm. Yuzuru gives a short nod, and Shoma is moving again.

Yuzuru has to focus on keeping his breathing even. In and out. Not too deep, not too shallow, not holding his breath. Just regular. He tries to pool his attention in his diaphragm, but it’s difficult not to get distracted when Shoma gets the rope around him, pulling the ends through the loop and tugging so it’s snug at the uppermost section of his waist. Right below his ribs. Yuzuru’s breath stutters. Knowing this is starting, this is happening, what will come next sends a flush of excitement over every inch of his skin. The red rope pulled tight around his waist looks as beautiful against his skin as he hoped it would. Just like Shoma had drawn it.

It’s hypnotic to watch, in their reflection, as Shoma gets to work winding and weaving the rope around him. First one way, then the next, braiding the rope up the middle. Yuzuru notices the small hesitations, the tiny tells of Shoma’s confidence wavering, in the first few rows up his body. Just small things; Shoma pausing to test the rope wasn’t pulled too tight, making sure it was enough to be stimulating, but not  _ so  _ tight that it could be a danger. 

Shoma gains confidence, though, after the first few passes of the rope around Yuzuru’s body. Now he is working at a steady pace, his expression serene as he does it. Like he is as hypnotised by the process as Yuzuru is. How many times has  he practised this? Has he done this on the mannequin that usually wore his costumes? Has he tested it on himself? Yuzuru resists the urge to lick his lips, imagining the rope around Shoma’s body - his thicker waist cinched in, his wider chest decorated in stripes of red. Yuzuru would have to ask him later.

By the time Shoma has worked the rope half-way up Yuzuru’s ribcage, he can feel it. He takes a breath in, and feels the pressure of the rope around him, stopping his ribs from expanding, cutting his inhale short. It’s exciting, a total high. Adrenaline. Yuzuru’s next breath is shuddering, faster than he meant it. His heart hammers in his chest. Not quite panic; close, but the rush doesn’t have that bitter twist of fear. Shoma halts for a moment, giving Yuzuru a chance to reject this particular tie if he’s not okay with it. Yuzuru tilts his head in a signal that he’s okay, and focuses on breathing again, enjoying that slight bite of rope each time. It feels like an embrace, like Shoma has his arms wrapped around him and is squeezing him tight. Yuzuru watches Shoma finish up the corset-like binding over his ribcage and watches the pattern change. Yuzuru watches it unfold on his body,  _ feels  _ it. Red lines criss-crossing, diamonds formed with loops and knots. The rope brushes over his nipples in a way that makes him gasp. He wants to squirm, make the ropes rub against him and chase the sparks of pleasure that friction ignites. He doesn’t. Shoma told him to stay still. 

There’s a small, sharp tug against Yuzuru’s back before Shoma’s hands draw back that tells Yuzuru he’s finished. Shoma smiles over his shoulder at him, meeting his eyes through their reflections before he leans forward to whisper into Yuzuru’s ear.

“Good boy,” he purrs. Yuzuru shudders. Shoma’s hands dance over the ropes, down to where the pattern stops, and further, over Yuzuru’s unbound skin. Forward, to stroke his quivering belly. Down further still, to tease him through the black lace of his underwear. Yuzuru’s breath catches, a moan unfurling from the back of his throat. He hadn’t noticed that he was hard until now. But Shoma is touching him, rewarding him for staying still. It makes Yuzuru ache. 

“Such a good boy for me today,” Shoma murmurs. His tongue runs over the shell of Yuzuru’s ear, soft and wet and warm. His hand dips beneath the lace, gripping Yuzuru and stroking him, maddeningly slow. Yuzuru moans again, a high and needy sound. He can see Shoma’s hand through the straining lace, feel the way it pulls the fabric to tighten and bite into his ass cheeks. When he takes a breath, the ropes stop him, forcing the air out before he’s ready, sending another wave of sweet adrenaline rushing through him, making him dizzy. 

Too fast, Shoma withdraws. The bed shifts from his weight leaving it. Yuzuru stares at his reflection. The hard line of his erection wrapped in pretty black lace, the flushed head peeking out of the waistband, trapped beneath and damp. The small flowery patterns of the lace make the contrast seem obscene.

Shoma returns with the camera in hand.  _ Click _ . The sound of the shutter firing is soft, but cuts through the near-silence and Yuzuru’s choppy breaths.  _ Click _ . Shoma slinks around the bed, reaching out. He curls a finger beneath Yuzuru’s chin, tilting his face up towards the lens. Yuzuru’s lips part, dry beneath the coat of red painted onto them.  _ Click _ .

Shoma lowers the camera in his hand. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice is low, rough, the way it gets when he’s really turned-on, the way that makes heat rock through Yuzuru’s body every time. In bed, in the shower, in the locker room of some competition somewhere, over the phone. He licks the pad of his thumb and drags it over Yuzuru’s bottom lip, smirking at his whimper. “You’d look prettier on your hands and knees.”

The ropes around Yuzuru’s chest tighten when he moves, rubbing over his nipples, constricting at his waist. Yuzuru hears the camera click a few more times once he’s in position. It reminds him, in a way, of a photoshoot he had in the summer. Different from others, where he was active and able to do what he wanted and the makeup wasn’t heavy. That one he had to be still, make small movements, do as directed. He had felt like a doll. It was nice but it had been wrong, somehow. Unsettling, unwanted, because Shoma wasn't there. Yuzuru could embrace that feeling now, float up out of his body and become Shoma’s. 

“These are very lovely,” Shoma says lightly.The warm touch of his hand high on Yuzuru’s calf, running up to his thigh, brings Yuzuru back into his body for a moment. “But I need to take them off.”

“Okay.”

Shoma presses his lips to Yuzuru’s thigh, right above the stockings, before he peels them off. He does again, kissing the bared skin on Yuzuru's  ankles, up to the crook of his knee, once they are discarded. His hands urge Yuzuru’s thighs apart, spreading his legs wider, so he can kiss the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. It’s too brief. Not enough.

Yuzuru’s can’t really see the ropes that Shoma ties around his legs, only imagine them based on what he can feel. The rope coils around his foot, his ankle, then tight to bind his calf and thigh together. Tighter than the binding of his chest. Yuzuru flexes his toes subtly, to make sure the blood can still flow there, and struggles to keep himself still, balanced only on his knees, while the mattress dips and jostles him every time Shoma shifts his weight. He lifts his head to catch sight of Shoma in the mirror, still fully clothed behind him, settled between his legs. Yuzuru’s always thought he looks devastatingly sexy like this -- focused, jaw a little tense and squaring off, confident in what he’s doing, in control. Yuzuru wishes he could see the muscles of his arms and shoulders tensing while he tugs the rope, creating loops where the calf and thigh meet, no doubt to make the end result more pleasing to the eye. He’s had more practice at this part, Yuzuru thinks. Shoma is working quicker, more efficiently, less hesitations. Yuzuru’s eyes follow his reflection while he turns his attention to the other leg. Grabbing at the ankle, pushing the leg into the right position, winding the rope around to secure it in place. 

Even if Yuzuru wanted to move his legs, he couldn’t. Not easily. Being bound like this means he’s balancing precariously on his knees. His arms ache. He wants to drop down to his elbows, but Shoma hasn’t told him that he can. Yuzuru takes a breath, cut short from the ropes around his chest, and maintains his posture. Keeps himself up on his hands. It hurts, bit it’s good. Just like the ropes around his chest compressing his ribs, or the ones on his legs holding them in an uncomfortable position and nipping into the skin.  _ Good _ . The persistent press of the ropes is like Shoma touching him, everywhere, manipulating him into position. Like fingers digging into his skin, holding him in place. It makes Yuzuru feel warm, tingling all over, floating, sight blurring. He can hear the camera shutter again, see the fuzzy shape of Shoma moving around the bed like before. There's an added a kick of humiliation now, because his legs are spread so wide, and his cock is so hard it’s leaking, straining against his lace panties painfully, making them wet.

“I’m going to tie your arms,” Shoma tells him, climbing back onto the bed, a warning before he takes away the only thing holding Yuzuru up. The mattress sinking helps Yuzuru shift his weight back enough to get some momentum to lift his arms up and bring them back. Shoma catches his wrists, holding them tight, stopping Yuzuru from crashing forwards. “I’ve got you.”

Yuzuru can’t answer. He has the strength to hold himself up, but it takes effort. He can feel the muscles at his core tensing, abs clenching hard, back straining. If he could shift his weight further backwards, maybe he could be more on his shins rather than the points of his knees, but he can’t with the way the rope restrict his movement. Even with the support of Shoma holding his arms, it’s difficult to keep his upper body off the bed. 

Shoma had been so gentle, up to now. Feathery touches and careful hands were a luxury-- one that has now been exhausted. Now he holds Yuzuru’s wrists against each other with one hand in a tight grip while he readies the rope. Yuzuru can see in the mirror Shoma holding the rope between his teeth. He scoots his body forwards, sliding his thighs beneath Yuzuru’s as far as they’ll go. Yuzuru gasps. Finally getting some pressure against his dick is a sweet relief, even if the lace is harsh against his skin. Shoma’s thighs offer some extra support to Yuzuru, though not enough to lift the strain of keeping himself up completely. The texture of Shoma’s jeans rub against the inside of Yuzuru’s thighs, even more so when Yuzuru clenches around him. The friction makes Yuzuru gasp, when he uses Shoma’s body to get the purchase he needs to lean himself back just a little, to ease the strain to takes to keep his chest off the bed even the smallest amount. 

Shoma is rougher with the rope. In the mirror, his jaw his set harder, brow furrowing in concentration as he works nimbly, pulling the ropes, looping them, winding them around Yuzuru’s arms to lock them together in place behind his back. Yuzuru’s abs quiver from the effort of staying up, and his body starts to shake while Shoma works. The repetitive motions help Yuzuru to stay focused as rope is threaded through a gap left in the pattern of ropes around his chest; as it is wound down his arms, drawing them together. But there’s a lot to take in. This position contracts his chest further, further shortening his breath. The constant heat of Shoma’s thighs beneath him, the ropes holding his legs. It's not overwhelming, but only barely. The tightness when he breathes makes him feel drunk, each rough tug of ropes around his arms sending fresh waves of sensation flooding his body. 

Shoma bites his lip, finishing off the arm restraint as quickly as he can. Yuzuru chokes back a groan when Shoma's thighs slide away, back out from under Yuzuru’s body. Shoma lets go of his arms, and he falls onto the bed, chest against the mattresses, ass up in the air. He gasps for air, only to be made more desperate from the constriction of the ropes at his ribs. His fingers flex and he tries to resist the urge to wriggle his body into a more comfortable position without Shoma’s permission.

Shoma moves off the bed, coming around to the side, and takes hold of the rope laced across Yuzuru's back. He uses his grip on it to arrange Yuzuru more comfortably, so his weight rests more squarely on his chest and shoulder and not his neck. He moves away, comes back again with camera in hand, ready to capture a picture of his completed project. He squats down to Yuzuru’s eye level, checking he’s okay, and smiles.

It’s not fair. It seems so wrong, that Shoma can smile so sweetly and look so innocent while Yuzuru is all wrapped up before him like an obscene gift. Yuzuru muses, while Shoma takes more photographs, that this is a side of Shoma only he gets to see. Just like Shoma is the only one who gets to see Yuzuru so vulnerable. Only Yuzuru knows what Shoma is really capable of, that his gentleness is paired with strength; that his love and care can manifest in ways that leave Yuzuru tender to touch, aching deep in every muscle and breathless. Only Yuzuru knows that behind sweet-puppy eyes and angelic smiles there’s a man who is sexual, powerful, raw and commanding, who can break through every wall Yuzuru could ever hope to build and expose him down to his soul. Shoma allows Yuzuru to be weak, to be needy, to embrace ever hunger and provides every desire, every sweet lick of pain and strange form of comfort Yuzuru could ever beg for. This Shoma -- the one in control, the one who breaks Yuzuru down and strips him bare -- belongs entirely to Yuzuru. No one else. And Yuzuru, as he his, belongs entirely to Shoma. The photographs that will result from every soft click of the camera are theirs and theirs alone; a moment frozen in time where nothing, none, else exists outside of the two of them. A dream from a lonely night, and Shoma is the artist giving them form. Maybe Yuzuru is the canvas, maybe he’s the tools that put the image together. Or maybe he’s the dream, Shoma’s Galatea, sprung to life from the strength of Shoma’s love. Maybe he’s everything to Shoma. 

Finally, Shoma reaches out to brush the hair from Yuzuru’s face lovingly. Yuzuru moans weakly.

“Such a good boy,” Shoma praises. “Do you want a reward?”

Yuzuru gasps. “Please.”

Yuzuru lets his eyes flutter closed when he feels the bed dip behind him once more, and shivers when Shoma’s lips brush the inside of his thigh. He focuses on that feeling: wet tongue kissing delicate skin, made more sensitive above where the ropes hug flesh. Shoma's touch trails higher, sucking and biting marks into his skin. Yuzuru moans softly, cock twitching in its lacy confines, when Shoma laves his tongue over the crease where ass meets thigh. His fingers hook under the lace, pulling it down to  the furthest point it can possibly stretch, just under the lush curve of Yuzuru’s ass. The dampened fabric drags over Yuzuru’s cock as it’s freed, coaxing a small sob from the back of his throat. Shoma grips his cheeks, pulling them further apart, and blows a stream of air over Yuzuru’s exposed hole. Yuzuru’s body gives an involuntary jerk, a high whine escaping him. The dry pad of Shoma’s thumb grazes over the delicate skin there, back and forth, teasing. 

Yuzuru wants to beg, but he doesn’t have the words, can’t find his voice. All he can do is make short, broken, urging sounds between rapid, aborted breaths. It feels like he waits forever before Shoma treats him to the slow, wet drag of the flat of his tongue. Yuzuru is caged, frustrated, desperate, every inch of his skin hot and buzzing. Ropes hold him still, squeezing at his thighs and arms and chest. He feels Shoma’s lips curl against his skin, fingers digging in where they hold. He peppers cruel, too-soft kisses around where Yuzuru really wants them. Down, over his perineum, up against, over the cheeks of his ass. Feeling Shoma’s hot breath against him is the last tease, the final thing to kick up Yuzuru’s anticipation-- then the tip of Shoma’s tongue flickers out. Kitten licks alternating with long, sweet drags of tongue and body-wracking sucking kisses have Yuzuru choking out shorted gasps and strangled mewls. Toes curling, fingers flexing-- nearly the only movements he can manage. He stretches his fingers, enough that they graze Shoma’s temple, the top of his eyebrow, the edge of his hairline. 

Shoma is good at this, incredible, flexing his tongue in ways that make Yuzuru’s eyes roll back in his head and his whole body twitch. Rapidly lapping at him until he’s soft and puffy and pliant. Sliding his tongue past the ring of muscle, working it inside, making Yuzuru cry out and his cock throb. The burn of just how much he  _ wants _ is bordering on painful, but it adds to the blissful weightless feeling that has taken hold of his mind. Yuzuru is helpless, entirely Shoma’s to toy with, unable to even push himself back against Shoma’s tongue, unable to catch his breath or touch himself. It’s intense and intoxicating. Yuzuru just wants  _ more _ , but what he has is already close to too much.

Yuzuru doesn’t hear the click of the lube being opened, or the squirt of it into Shoma’s hand, but he does feel Shoma’s mouth pull away from him and he does feel its replacement, the smooth slide of a finger entering him. Yuzuru grunts, pressing his chest further against the bed, raising his hips a little higher, eyelids fluttering at the way his own voice of movement makes the ropes at his chest rub against his nipples and tighten at his waist. Shoma huffs out a short, breathy laugh against his skin and adds a second finger, pushing in down to his last knuckle and curling. Yuzuru’s cock jumps, dripping onto the bed sheets. Shoma pulls back, and thrusts his fingers in again. Again, and again, faster. The pleasure is like fire, sparking deep inside and spreading out.

Flash point, and Yuzuru is tense, shaking, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, gasping for air that’s almost out of reach. Shoma spreads his fingers, flickering his tongue between them as they move. Yuzuru can’t moan. He can’t scream or whine or beg for Shoma to touch him. All he can do is shudder violently, open-mouthed and silent, as orgasm builds. And builds. And builds. Like it might never crest, like he’ll be suspended in bone-aching pleasure forever. But Shoma thrusts his tongue inside, beside his fingers; he slides in deep and curls, so the pads of his fingers press against Yuzuru’s prostate, and that’s it. Yuzuru's vision whites out, his muscles lock up,  and he hits his peak. Crashing waves of euphoria. Fingers catching Shoma’s hair and curling. Coming hard, hot and wet. Belly, chest, all over the bed. Shoma carries him through, gentling his tongue, moving his fingers in small motions to milk him through every last second of orgasm. Until it’s too much, and Yuzuru is whining high in his throat.

Yuzuru is floating, trembling from the aftermath, when Shoma pulls away and crawls off the bed. He hears the soft sound of clothes being pulled off and dropped on the floor.  Yuzuru opens his eyes when the bed dips in front of him, greeted by the sight of the honeyed-milk skin of Shoma’s thigh. His eyes flicker up, and up, following the straight upward curve of Shoma’s erection, head flushed dark and glistening wet below his navel. Shoma’s hand grasps Yuzuru’s hair, pulling up his head roughly. The pain is sweet, cutting through the haze left from orgasm. Shoma grasps his cock, stroking himself with quick, fluid flicks of his wrist, then brings himself forward. The damp head smacks against Yuzuru’s lips. Yuzuru opens his mouth automatically, barely managing the presence of mind to flatten his tongue over his bottom teeth. Shoma pushes into his mouth, muscles pulled taut in his hips. Thighs straining against desire, keeping the movement slow. 

Yuzuru moans for the salty tang of Shoma on his tongue, rolling his eyes up to take in the sight of Shoma’s body. Abs clenched tight, caramel nipples peaked, neck arching and head thrown back to display the hard line of his jaw. Shoma’s free hand tangles with the ropes that decorate Yuzuru’s chest, twisting, pulling him up by them to offer a better angle. Everything tightens; the ropes around his ribs narrowing further, arms pulling back from where the bindings are linked together. Yuzuru closes his lips around Shoma, and flexes his tongue as Shoma pulls back. His mind is fuzzy, unfocused, barely there. Just capable of holding his mouth open for Shoma to snap his hips forward again. Shoma’s hand twists in his hair, picking up the pace to fuck into Yuzuru’s mouth fast and rough. Yuzuru’s body quivers to keep himself up, all his energy going into the task of relaxing his throat and breathing through his nose as much as he can. The sounds tearing from Shoma’s throat are like music, the harsh tug of his fingers in Yuzuru’s hair and the fast thrusts into his mouth the only things keeping him present. Yuzuru moans, swallowing clumsily around Shoma’s thick length, lazily rolling his tongue to urge Shoma over the edge. He can see how close Shoma is, feel it in the tightness of his grip, the speed of the thrusts into his mouth. He moans again, sloppily closing his lips to create suction.

Shoma gasps, pulling out of Yuzuru’s mouth completely and tugging at himself. Once. Twice. He comes over Yuzuru’s parted lips, cheeks, nose…

It takes a moment for Shoma to come down from the high. Shoma looks down at Yuzuru, chest heaving, hand still buried in Yuzuru’s hair. His free hand drops his still-twitching cock and reaches for the camera beside him. He tugs Yuzuru’s head further back and --  _ click _ . He lets go of Yuzuru’s hair, and Yuzuru's head drops heavily onto his thighs. Yuzuru exhales shakily, throat tender and aching. Shoma strokes his hair lightly, soothing the scalp, brushing down the mussed strands. Yuzuru closes his eyes, soothed and safe, and just  _ feels _ . 

Shoma lowers Yuzuru to the bed gently, rolling him onto his side so it’s a little bit more comfortable, easier to breathe. But Yuzuru doesn't think of this; only feels him go, and aches for him to return. Still lost somewhere in liminal space. Still floating somewhere outside of himself. 

Shoma settles back down beside him. Yuzuru cracks open an eye to see Shoma’s face, so sweet and innocent, brown eyes fond and warm when he brings a wet wipe up to lightly swipe over Yuzuru’s face. Cleaning him up. A swell of  _ love  _ rises in Yuzuru’s chest, painfully big. He’s so cared for. So wanted. So loved. He has to close his eyes to stop tears from welling up. His shoulders ache, his legs are uncomfortable and threatening to cramp, he’s dizzy from only being able to take shallow breaths. Shoma kisses Yuzuru’s lips, so light and gentle it makes a lump rise in his throat.

“I’ll untie you now, okay?” Shoma whispers. “I’ll do it as fast as I can.”

“Arm,” Yuzuru croaks. “Hurts.”

Shoma nods, helping Yuzuru to sit up with his feet against the bed, moving to untie the arms first. Yuzuru brings them forwards, groaning as the pressure in his shoulders is released. Then Shoma works on the binding on his chest, the loops across his ribs. Feeling them slacken and fall away comes with a rush of relief. Yuzuru takes a deep breath, and another. Sucking in air until his head has cleared while Shoma takes another wet wipe and dabs at his skin. Shoma unties his legs, first the left, then the right. Yuzuru stretches them out in front of him and sighs. He lies back onto the bed, waiting for Shoma to join him. He needs...touch, affection, kisses. A moment to just be wrapped up in Shoma’s warmth and scent. Shoma tosses the ropes on the floor - a problem to be dealt with later, and descends upon Yuzuru. He lifts Yuzuru’s wrist, pressing kisses to the marks the ropes left on his wrists and forearm and bicep. Yuzuru smiles and lets his eyes fall closed as Shoma presses kisses to over mark left behind. Over his ribs. On the top of his thigh. Under his knee. It’s sensual, but not sexual. Yuzuru is too spent, too wrung out and tired, the scene still clinging to the edge of his senses. He needs time to recover. 

Shoma kisses over Yuzuru’s face, lingering on his lips, before settling down and pulling Yuzuru into his arms. They are quiet and calm. Yuzuru listens to the soft puffs of Shoma’s breaths and tries to fall into the same rhythm. His hands curl against Shoma’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. Close. Safe. Cared for. Loved. The tears cling to his lashes, feelings too intense to keep inside. Shoma just holds him, presses his lips to Yuzuru’s cheek, and lets him ride it out.

Shoma rubs small circles into Yuzuru’s back, every circle calms him a little bit more, brings him back into himself a little bit more until he feels solid again. His breathing slows, settling back to a regular rhythm. He opens his eyes, vision filled with Shoma’s soft mouth, the curve of his cheek. There’s red smeared there, catching on the dry skin on his bottom lip, a small way that Yuzuru was able to mark him. Yuzuru lifts his hand from Shoma’s chest, tracing the edge of Shoma’s lip, remembering the tender kisses that transferred the colour there.

“My lipstick is all over you,” Yuzuru says, voice hushed and cracking, throat still sore and dry. 

Shoma’s lips twitch in humour. “You should see your face.”

Yuzuru huffs out a weak laugh, lifting his gaze from Shoma’s lips to take in the rest of his face. Too close, maybe, but Yuzuru can’t bring himself to move back. He needs Shoma like this now, enveloping him, surrounding him in the warmth of his skin and the familiar scent of salt and sweat and sex.

“Are you back with me?” Shoma asks, fingers still tracing shapes into his skin.

“Almost.”

Shoma hums, bridging the tiny gap between them to kiss the tip of Yuzuru’s nose. “When you’re ready, I’ll run you a bath, okay?”

Yuzuru nods. Even though Shoma had wiped him down, his skin still feels sticky and his muscles are tight. A hot bath sounds incredibly appealing. “Just a bit longer,” he mutters, tucking his head into the crook of Shoma’s neck. His lips graze Shoma’s collarbone. He lets his tongue slip out to taste the skin, oddly comforted by it. Shoma chuckles and presses his lips against the top of Yuzuru’s head. 

They do, eventually, migrate to the bathroom. Shoma did have to leave Yuzuru alone for a moment, but he returned with a cool glass of water for Yuzuru to drink and soft, fluffy towels. He’s happy for Yuzuru to hold his hand while he readies the bath, filling it with lavender scented bubbles. Yuzuru drapes himself over Shoma’s back while they watch the tub fill. Shoma turns to look back at him, smiling. 

The hot water is a blissful as Yuzuru had imagined. Maybe a little too hot, from how Shoma hisses when he follows Yuzuru into the water, but it’s better to be a touch too hot than too cold. Yuzuru sighs in satisfaction when Shoma is seated behind him, bracketing Yuzuru’s body with his thighs. Yuzuru loves these moments afterwards, when Shoma bathes him and they’re wrapped up in each other in an entirely different way. He knows Shoma loves this too; bathing Yuzuru, taking care of him. 

Shoma massages Yuzuru’s shoulders, working out the lingering tension from being held in an awkward position for so long. Yuzuru’s eyes drift shut, melting into Shoma’s hands. “That’s good.”

Shoma makes a small sound in response, moving his hands down Yuzuru’s back to focus on the next set of muscles. “Is there anywhere else you feel tight?”

“My legs a little, but the bath might be enough.”

“Was it okay today?” Shoma asks, working out a knot beneath Yuzuru’s shoulder blade. “You were pretty deep into it.”

Yuzuru purrs as the muscle releases. “Yeah, it was good.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Intense? But good.”

“What did you like?” Shoma probes, tone light, hands travelling further down, dipping beneath the water briefly, before moving up to continue rubbing at Yuzuru’s shoulders, more gentle now. 

“I liked dressing up for you,” Yuzuru admits, a little shy but not ashamed.

“I liked that too,” Shoma whispers. He stops his massage, sliding his arms around Yuzuru’s ribs, slotting their bodies together perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. “You looked perfect.”

“You look nice in lipstick too,” Yuzuru says with a private smirk. “Maybe we could both dress up sometimes.”

Shoma laughs. “You want that? The two of us dolled up, slipping hands up each other’s skirts?”

He might have said it as a joke, but it sure does paint a vivid mental picture. Yuzuru giggles, “When you say it like that, it sounds  _ really  _ fun.” 

Shoma snorts. “I’ll think about it.”

Yuzuru smiles and thinks back over the scene, considering how it felt, what Shoma needed to know. Overall, it was a good experience. Shoma wasn’t wrong, when he said Yuzuru had been in deep.  

“I liked the ropes. I--” Yuzuru hesitates, placing his hands over where Shoma’s rest on his belly. “Thank you. For trusting me with the ones around my ribs.”

“Was it okay?”

“It was exciting. But very close to being too much,” Yuzuru tells him, honest. “I almost got overwhelmed a few times.”

Shoma leans forward, resting his chin on Yuzuru’s shoulder. He turns his head plants a single kiss to Yuzuru’s neck, against the freckle there he likes so much. “I thought maybe you were.”

“I’d want to try it again. Just, maybe not all at once?”

“I should’ve just tied you in one place,” Shoma murmurs. Perhaps a little regretful, but mostly thinking out loud about how it could be better, what they can learn. “Shouldn’t have introduced so much at once. Next time we’ll do a little less, okay?”

“That sounds good,” Yuzuru agrees. They’d ever done anything complicated with restraints before, they both had been perhaps a bit over-ambitious for a first time with this kind of bondage. “We can build up to it more.”

“Same with the breathplay,” Shoma offers. “We can try something smaller. If you still want to.”

Yuzuru twists his head, looking at where Shoma’s face is perched on his shoulder. “You’d be okay with that?”

“Nothing bad happened.” Shoma shrugs. “If we’re careful, we could make it work. You were really receptive to it.”

Yuzuru settles back, water sloshing around them. “I’d like that.” 

It had been hard to focus on the restraint and the restricted breathing at the same time. Yuzuru thinks he would enjoy both much more separately, until they are both more comfortable. He squeezes Shoma’s hands under the water, reassuring. “This was really good. It was a lot, but you managed it well. I liked everything.”

“Me too.”

***

They don’t look at the photographs until the day Yuzuru is due to fly back Toronto. They are not as pretty as the drawings, maybe, but there’s a certain charm about them. Yuzuru flushes, embarrassed, at the final photo of him, all fucked-out and glassy-eyed, completely tied up and covered in come. The shallow depth of field makes the photograph look artistic, but that can’t make up for how utterly filthy it is.

“God,” Shoma grunts, lifting his head from where he had been biting on Yuzuru’s shoulder. “That should be hung up in the Louvre.”

Yuzuru throws his head back and laughs. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is so long for a PWP jesus christ what is wrong with me


End file.
